


a drink

by MiriRainbowitz



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: DON'T YOU JUST LOVE WHEN LIN PUTS SUPER PAINFUL PARALLELS BETWEEN SONGS BC I DON'T
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-15 22:16:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7240639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiriRainbowitz/pseuds/MiriRainbowitz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thoughts after the duel, or Aaron gets a drink</p>
            </blockquote>





	a drink

**Author's Note:**

> brought to you by El and the fact that Aaron offers to buy Alexander a drink when he first meets him and then goes and gets a drink after he shoots him.

Aaron is feeling – he doesn’t know what he’s feeling. Numb would probably be the best word, because there are a _lot_ of emotions swirling inside him, but he doesn’t really feel them. He’s honestly still trying to wrap his head around what happened – challenging Alexander, arriving at Weehawken, Alexander aiming towards the sky, _wait!_ – it’s all painfully clear and confusing and he doesn’t know what to think.

He decides that getting a drink might help, so he walks down the street and sees that a bar is open. He goes inside and freezes– it’s the same bar that he brought Alexander to when they first met. He’s torn between fleeing and staying.

“You gonna stand there all day?” someone growls, and Aaron shakes his head and unconsciously starts moving towards the bar. “Pint of beer, please,” he says.

 _Two pints of Sam Adams, but I’m working on three!_ John Laurens’s voice echoes in his memories, and Aaron turns around, half expecting to see John, Lafayette, and Mulligan over at one of the tables, young and fired up about the revolution, but they’re not there. In fact, almost no one is, but then again, it’s just after dawn on a Wednesday morning. 

God, why had Alexander aimed at the sky? Aaron had been so sure he was going to aim at him, and he’d responded appropriately– but Alexander’s shot had gone clear overhead, completely missing him. He’d thrown away his shot– why, _why_ had he done that? What had he been thinking?

Aaron vaguely registers someone putting a beer in front of him and takes a drink. It doesn’t help pull him from his thoughts at all, and he quickly finishes it and asks for another, his thoughts staying on Alexander.

What was he doing now? Was he back at his house, his wife and sister-in-law tending to him, or had he been taken to a doctor’s house, to try and treat his wound? Was he conscious, or had the pain knocked him out and, for once in his life, made him be quiet? Was he going to survive this? He had to– he was Alexander Hamilton. He’d survived everything life had thrown at him. What was a bullet to the ribs from his first friend and political enemy?

He stays there for a while before the silence in the bar becomes oppressive and he heads back to his home. There are people talking in the streets, except when he hears Alexander’s name, it’s accompanied by shaky voices and red-rimmed eyes, and Aaron keeps his head down and walks faster, trying to make himself as small and unobtrusive as possible.

Alexander will be fine. He has to be.


End file.
